


The One with Skye Demonstrating Her Powers

by RowboatCop



Series: 3 Times Coulson Didn't Visit Skye at The Retreat (and 1 Time He Did) [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Coulson's awe at Skye's powers, Coulson's ridiculous crush on Skye, F/M, Kitchen Sex, Skoulson Sex Cabin, Vaginal Fingering, skye's powers, things that couldn't have happened in canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 18:31:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4148385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/pseuds/RowboatCop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson returns to The Retreat a couple of days after dropping Skye off there, and she shows him what she can do with the water in the kitchen sink. Featuring feels and porn and Coulson's awe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One with Skye Demonstrating Her Powers

“Hi,” he greets her with a smile when she opens the front door.

She’s wearing a black t-shirt and black jeans — very Skye, at least recently — and it makes him happy to see her looking just like herself. Some vestige of normality in an otherwise terrifyingly abnormal situation.

He’s wearing a suit and tie, same as any day, for pretty much the same reason.

As much as things can’t ever be normal again — not really — as much as he knows it and he doesn’t want Skye to lie to herself about it… Well, he wants to give her as much normal as he can.

“Hi.”

He pulls her into a hug because he wants her to know he’s here for her. And he’s not sure at what point hugging her became part of giving her some kind of normal, but it is.

“You haven’t been too lonely, have you?” He asks against the side of her head as his eyes slip closed and he breathes in the scent of her hair.

“It hasn’t been two days, Coulson. I’m a big girl, I can entertain myself.”

“I know,” he sighs as he pulls back. “I just hate to think of —”

“I was already bored,” she reminds him, and it makes his stomach hurt that she’s the one reassuring him about this. That wasn’t his intention.

“I miss you,” he tries again.

“You can’t handle two days without me?” She smiles, at least, teasing and _Skye_.

“I had no one to eat lunch with yesterday.”

“Oh, poor Phil,” she shakes her head, joking, but he can see her watching him closely, looking for a sign that it’s okay to call him that.

He just smiles, and based on the way she loosens up, he thinks she gets it.

They finally step inside the cabin, and almost immediately Skye’s face goes pensive — the look she gets when there’s something big, the look she gets when she doesn’t know whether to be scared or excited.

“What is it?”

“He was here. The guy that took my dad and Raina.”

Coulson swallows and looks around, as though he might still be here, might take Skye — take Skye further away than she already is.

“He said it’s my choice if I go with him.” Her voice cuts through his thoughts, and he turns his attention back to her.

“And you didn’t go.”

“He said I’d be ready soon, though.”

Coulson swallows and looks to the floor.

“Are you?”

Skye shrugs.

“He said they could help me control it, help me understand who I am.”

“Yeah.” He tries to smile, tries not to look like this is a bad thing, tries to be happy at the idea of Skye figuring out where she belongs. He _is_ happy about all those things.

“I wanted to wait until I got to talk to you to make up my mind.”

He nods, but can’t quite stop looking at the surrounding room with suspicion.

“You should know that Agent Peterson sent me some intel last week about Strucker’s operation. He’s been experimenting on gifted individuals.”

Skye looks down at her hands — gloveless, and he’s glad to see them that way, glad that she doesn’t feel the need to resort to dampening her powers.

“Do you think I’m in danger?”

“I think any gifted individual is in danger. But no one we’ve traced has been on the Index, which means we think there’s a community somewhere that they’re targeting.”

Skye closes her eyes and draws in a slow breath.

“So you think I shouldn’t trust Gordon?”

Coulson chews over that name, tucks it away. Gordon.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t want you to run from a chance to find out more about your powers, but…”

“But it could be dangerous.”

He nods, but stays quiet.

“So you think I shouldn’t go.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I know.” She sounds disappointed.

“I never want to make any choices for you, Skye.”

“I know.” Almost disappointed again. “This isn’t a choice I want to make, though. I belong with SHIELD.”

It warms something in his chest that has been cold since he left here, since Andrew dropped off his evaluation of her, since he realized _she_ had caused the earthquakes.

“You do,” he agrees easily. Because she does. She belongs with SHIELD. With him.

“So how long do you think I’ll have to stay here?”

He swallows and shakes his head.

“You know —”

“I do,” she cuts him off. “I know this isn’t because you’re scared of me.”

“I’m not,” he reiterates. And he’s not. If it were just a matter of Skye causing earthquakes, he thinks they could handle it. But Skye hurting herself is another story. “The last thing I want is for you to be scared of hurting the team. Holding it back...that’s going to kill you.”

“And here I can let it out?”

“Can you?”

She sort of smiles at him and then looks down for a beat before offering him her hand. He takes it instantly, without thought, but relaxes his grip to make sure he’s not hurting her hands — still lightly mottled with bruising.

“It’s fine,” she promises him. “Mostly healed.”

He nods and they walk together into the kitchen — he has no idea why, no idea what she’s got planned, and then she turns on the sink.

Which makes things about as clear as mud.

“Skye?”

“Just a second.”

She drops his hand and he can only watch as she takes a breath before reaching both hands into the sink. He can tell the moment she _decides_ to use her powers because everything about her gets somehow bigger. Like she’s less afraid of herself, less afraid of taking up space.

He’s about a pace behind her, so it takes him a moment to realize what’s happening — and then he sees it.

“Skye,” he whispers her name in awe as he steps up behind her, so he can better look down into the sink at the zig zag pattern she’s making with the water. His mouth drops open in awe, and he lets out a tiny noise — something of disbelief and wonder. But it’s when he turns his head to see the smile on her face that his eyes start to sting. Because Skye doing something amazing is great, but Skye feeling her gift as something good — something that makes her smile — instead of a nightmare?

He might cry from the joy of it.

“It’s pretty neat, right?” She turns her head to meet his gaze, and the happiness in her eyes warms him. Like maybe he hasn’t made such a mistake, maybe he hasn’t mishandled things.

Maybe there is a new normal they can return to.

“Incredible,” he answers, returning her smile with his own.

Their eyes lock, and the air changes between them, something more than amazement at what Skye can do.

He’s the first one to break their gaze, to force himself look back down to the sink where Skye is working a small miracle.

And it is a miracle.

His heart starts to beat faster as he watches, as he lets himself feel that this is _her_.

It’s Skye — _his Skye_ — but superpowered, controlling the very elements. This is small, but he can imagine how much _bigger_ it could be.

She could alter the world, _move the very Earth_ , if she wanted to.

And _fuck_ , but it turns him on.

He doesn’t mean to get so close; he really doesn’t. When he closes the remaining distance between them, it’s only because he wants to see better. But he does get closer, so that he’s almost spooning up behind her — just a hair’s breadth separating them while he peers over her shoulder into the sink. His hands land on the edge of the counter on either side of her hips, propping himself behind her.

“Can you change the pattern?” His voice is gruff and soft, right at her ear, and he grips the edge of the sink tighter to stop himself from pushing harder against her, fully pinning her to the counter.

He needs to step back, needs to put distance between them, but he can’t. He can’t pull back from marveling at her power, can’t pull back from _her_. At the very least, he manages to pull his hips away slightly, making sure she won’t accidentally feel the proof of his arousal.

“I don’t know,” Skye answers, and he can feel her shiver. “I haven’t figured out how.”

“Try?”

She nods and he turns his head enough to watch her profile as she concentrates and moves her hands. This close, he can appreciate how smooth and perfect her skin is, how she almost glows. He traces his eyes down the line of her cheek, her nose, her chin — taking in the sight of her that he hadn’t realized he had missed so much. It’s a shock when she turns her head to meet his gaze, dancing brown eyes that hold his for an endless moment, her nose within an inch of brushing his.

And then her eyes dip down to his mouth — it’s so fast he might be able to brush it off, except that she licks her lips and gently sucks her lower lip between her teeth. He watches it in aroused fascination, in an intense desire to get his own teeth around her lower lip.

“Coulson, look,” she finally breaks his attention on her mouth, and he follows the tilt of her head to look back into the sink.

As he watches, her hands drift further apart, stretching the distance between each zig-zag wave, and then the shape changes, gets rounder.

“I’m doing that,” she whispers, full of amazement at herself, and his eyes sting again.

“You’re doing that,” he agrees and bumps his forehead against her temple, some sort of show of solidarity.

“It’s kind of amazing.” Like she hasn’t fully internalized it yet — that this is her, that she’s doing it, that she’s a fucking miracle.

“God, Skye, _you’re_ amazing.”

It’s almost a groan, soft and whispered too close to her ear. He can see her whole neck break out in goosebumps, and can’t seem to stop himself from pressing his hips forward. His cock is hard, and he exhales a shaky breath against her ear when it makes contact with her ass. It feels too good — the warmth and the pressure and the fact that it is _Skye_ — and he grinds forward thoughtlessly; a little high pitched sound of pleasure works itself out from deep in his belly.

“ _Coul_ -son,” she gasps, and it’s like his brain turns on again.

 _Shit_.

He goes to pull back only to feel one of her wet hands wind behind his neck, anchoring him against her.

“Shit,” he whispers, giving voice to the only thought in his head, though he doesn’t fight her attempt to hold him against her, doesn’t try to pull away again. “Shit. I’m so sorry, Skye.”

“No —”

“This is inappropriate,” he shakes his head, keeps his eyes pointed at the sink where the water is now running straight down, where nothing special is happening, where there is nothing that will make him want to practically force himself on Skye.

“Coulson —”

“I didn’t mean to —”

“Coulson —”

“Please don’t feel like —”

“Phil, _stop_.”

She presses firmly on his neck, so that his nose almost touches her ear, and it’s like she’s offering herself.

“Not inappropriate.” Her voice is mostly a whisper.

“Oh,” he breathes out against her neck.

Instead of immediately latching his lips and tongue onto her, he takes a slow breath in just under her ear, and smiles against her skin as she shudders. When his nose brushes against her earlobe, she moans, and he returns the sound.

He’s careful and slow as he kisses beneath her ear, tasting the salt of her skin in contrast to the sweet smell of her shampoo before letting his lips drag softly down her neck.

“ _Coulson_ ,” she sighs his name.

“ _Phil_ ,” he corrects her as he grinds against her ass again.

“Phil,” she half-laughs his name, like she doesn’t know how to say it when it’s not a joke.

He scrapes his teeth across her skin softly, a little nip that makes her shudder against him.

“Skye,” he practically growls, voice so low and serious as he presses his hips against her and slides his hands from the counter to rest on her hips.

“ _Phil_.”

Any teasing evaporates, and he presses his mouth more firmly to her neck, sucking lightly as she pushes herself backwards against him. Coulson runs his hands up her belly to cup her breasts over her shirt, and groans at the feeling of her wet hand sliding back up his neck.

Skye is the one that guides his lips to hers, that cranes her neck to make it possible for them to kiss, and he sinks into it with enthusiasm as water droplets from her hands drip down the side of his face. He tastes it as his tongue runs over her lower lip, as he opens his mouth between them, and then Skye’s hand disappears from his cheek.

The abrupt silence — the loss of the white noise provided by the sink — makes it obvious what she’s done, and he’s suddenly self conscious about the wet smack of his lips against hers as he changes the angle of his head.

He appreciates the quiet, though, since he can perfectly hear the tiny moans she releases every time he presses his hips against her, his cock against her ass.

When she rubs herself back against him and once again cups his cheek, keeping their mouths pressed together, he feels bold enough to run his hands back up to her breasts _under_ her shirt, so he’s cupping the satiny fabric of her bra and then pushing it aside so that her breasts fill his hands.

It wouldn’t take that much for him to come like this, he realizes, her nipples pressed to his palms and her ass pressed to his cock, and it makes him grunt into her mouth, makes him suddenly desperate to create some kind of parity.

Coulson drops his hands to her waist and thumbs open the top button of her jeans.

“Okay?” He manages to whisper the question into her mouth, just his thumb brushing against the silky smooth skin beneath.

“Yes,” she answers without hesitation, a moan as she kisses him harder and grinds her hips back against him.

He slides his right hand down into her jeans until he’s cupping her sex, until he can feel the heat of her against his palm. Her mouth falls open against his and she sucks rapid breaths against his lips.

“Coulson,” she grunts his name and almost writhes against him, her whole body begging him to do more — to really touch her. “Please.”

But with her jeans still mostly on, he can barely manage to move his middle finger against her, can barely feel the liquid heat against his skin.

They clearly reach the same conclusion simultaneously, and fumble in unison to push Skye’s jeans down her thighs just enough that he can angle his wrist and press his middle finger up. She loses any semblance of kissing him when his finger slips inside of her, focused instead on angling her hips to get the most out of his fingers.

It’s messy and awkward and fumbling against each other as Skye braces her hands on the counter in order to grind back against him as he fingers her and sucks on her neck, but he can feel it — her body getting tighter against him, her breath coming in harsh pants — as she gets close.

He comes first, too euphoric with the reality of it — of having his hands full of Skye — to be embarrassed. His groan of satisfaction against her ear seems to set her off, though, to leave her shaking and panting for breath as she clings to the countertop in front of her.

Still, Coulson keeps moving his fingers inside of her until she collapses forward, too spent to keep going, then grabs hold of her hips so they sort of sink to the floor together, leaning against the cabinets side by side.

“Bet you didn’t imagine this when you dropped me off here,” Skye teases him, her voice thick with satiation, and he feels remarkably calm about this — this step forward, this shift in their relationship.

“You’d be surprised, then.”

“You imagined bending me over the kitchen sink? Because even _I_ never imagined that one.”

“And you’ve cornered the market on thinking about ways to have sex?”

“With you,” she clarifies as she nods her agreement, and for the first time he can see the trace of nerves in her expression — that she’s revealing perhaps more of herself than she means to.

“I’ve thought about plenty of ways to have sex with you.”

It was apparently the right thing to say because she smiles and leans against him.

“You want to show me some more of them?”

“In the shower,” he suggests as he runs his hand down her thigh, still exposed since her jeans are twisted around her knees. He really needs a shower. “And then the bed.”

“I’ve definitely thought of both of those.”

  



End file.
